Pandemic
by Talisman Casedine
Summary: Even a demon can't infect Madagascar; what's going on here? A little bit of silliness inspired by a LiveJournal conversation.


Aziraphale found Crowley in his apartment.

"I haven't heard from you in weeks," he said. "What mischief are you up to now?"

Crowley looked up from the laptop screen. "Madagascar," he mumbled.

Aziraphale was beyond confused. "Pardon?"

"Madagascar's closed its ports again."

Aziraphale sighed and walked across the study to stand behind Crowley's desk chair. "It just looks like a little game," he said.

"A _little game_?" Crowley said, amazed. "It's not just a _little game_. It's an infuriating, impossible-to-beat game!"

"What are you supposed to do?"

"Look, I have to start over anyway; you can watch. The goal is to create a pandemic that will wipe out Earth. Now, you can choose from -"

"Why?" Aziraphale interrupted.

"- these ... what? What do you mean, 'why'? Because it's the point of the game! Now, as I was saying, you can choose from virus, bacteria, or parasite. It's obviously best to choose the parasite, since - "

"Why?" Aziraphale interrupted again.

Crowley heaved a long-suffering sigh. "I'd tell you, if you quit interrupting me like a four year old. The parasite survives easiest, and is least visible. If your disease is visible, countries will shut down their ports earlier. If your disease can't survive in various climates, it won't infect certain parts of the globe. Now watch."

"Why don't you just pick a relaxed game?" Aziraphale asked.

"Because that's conceding defeat," Crowley said. "I'm not going to let this game - this _game_ - beat me."

"Uh ... okay." Aziraphale pulled up a chair and settled in next to Crowley and watched for a moment. "Is there any particular reason you named your disease 'Fundamentalism'?"

"Are you saying you wouldn't want fundamentalism to take over the world?"

"Not to wipe out humanity, Crowley."

Crowley just smirked, then turned his attention back to the screen.

"Now what do you do?" Aziraphale asked, watching the little planes and anchors make their ways around the screen.

"Wait until evolution points accumulate and build up your resistances. Honestly, Aziraphale, your ability to miss trends is amazing."

"It's _just a game_," he said.

Crowley just shook his head and went back to watching the screen.

A few minutes later, Aziraphale sighed. "Is it always this exciting?"

"Okay, now if you're just going to be sarcastic, you don't have to watch."

"Sorry, sorry. Now why don't you want symptoms?"

"Because it makes the disease noticeable."

"Ah." After a few more minutes, he said, "I'm not going to lie, Crowley -"

"Are you capable of such a thing?"

"Anyway ... as I was saying, this does not look very exciting."

"You have to be patient. You know, like you're patient with your belief that humanity is basically good."

"They are."

"Do you _ever_ go anywhere, Aziraphale?"

"Mostly with you, which may be part of my problem."

"Very funny."

---

_Some time later ...._

"So you've lost four times, because Madagascar closes its port."

"Yes! I use the right strain, I follow the strategy exactly, and it _never_ works!"

"why don't you just play another game?"

"You really don't get the point here."

"Apparently."

"Maybe I'll go to Madagascar and see what mischief I can cause. Come on, let's go."

"Why are you going to wreak havoc on a country that hasn't done anything to you?"

"They have!"

Aziraphale shook his head. "Crowley ...."

"Come on, you know you're not doing anything more interesting right now anyway."

---

_On the beach at Morondava ...._

"Crowley, we've been wandering this country for days, and you haven't done anything at all."

"Aziraphale, I'm _relaxing_," Crowley said patiently, dragging his feet through the white sand.

"Must you do so for this long?"

Crowley looked over his sunglasses at Aziraphale. "You, my friend, _really_ need to learn how to relax. You're entirely too uptight."

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, who was standing there in a pair of khakis and an almost offensively brightly patterned shirt. "Does this relaxing require shirts like that?"

Crowley opened his mouth to retort, then pointed down the beach. "Hey ... isn't that ... impossible!" He took off down the beach, Aziraphale on his heels. He stopped at a folding chair under a large umbrella. A pale young man with white-blond hair and dressed entirely in white lounged on the chair. He smiled up at Crowley. "And what brings you here?"

"I might ask you the same thing; this is a beach astonishingly devoid of any unpleasantness. Or rather, your particular brand of pleasantness."

"That is somewhat disappointing, I agree, but I'm enjoying the fact that no one has the ability to spoil this vista but me."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, it's this little thing you probably haven't even heard of, what with your elaborate schemes involving traffic and phone lines. There's this game that these humans apparently love playing, called Pandemic 2, and ... Crowley, is everything all right?"

Aziraphale had a firm grasp on the back of Crowley's shirt and was trying very hard not to laugh. Crowley had leaned forward and had an extremely pained look on his face.

"Yes," Crowley said through gritted teeth, straightening up. "Everything's fine. Do continue."

"As I was saying," the young man said, looking at Crowley strangely, "the point of this game is to infect the world with a sickness of your choice. I quite like it here, and have consequently made it nearly impossible to infect Madagascar. From what I hear, it's causing untold amounts of consternation among the game's fans. Are you quite sure you're all right?"

Crowley removed his sunglasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and slowly replaced them. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, hoping for a look of Zen-like peace on his face (although reasonably sure he'd failed.) "Oh yes, everything is peachy. Must be going ... do enjoy your vacation."

The young man smiled and waved before turning back to watch the ocean.


End file.
